


Cordially Invited

by Slumber



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Pureblood Society, Purebloods, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-12
Updated: 2005-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slumber/pseuds/Slumber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaise's mother is engaged to Theodore's father, and everyone gets busy with wedding preparations. More or less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cordially Invited

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to [](http://starflowers.livejournal.com/profile)[**starflowers**](http://starflowers.livejournal.com/), from whom I stole Grayson, Kalan, and Theodore. *kisses* Lissa, I really don't know what else to add besides gratuitous shagging. :| Much love to [](http://ccharlotte.livejournal.com/profile)[**ccharlotte**](http://ccharlotte.livejournal.com/), who edited and lent me Isabella. :D I take full blame for the title. :|

Blaise had known that the loud buzzing of his fireplace early that morning was from his mother, thus despite a rather pressing need for sleep, he slid his way out of bed, slipping into thick white robes with the languid movement that came naturally with being a Zabini, and padded over to the fireplace. Seven years after Hogwarts and still his mother found it necessary to call at ungodly hours. "Good morning, Mother," he greeted wearily.

"You've not dressed yet," Isabella's crisp, cool voice cut through the haze of his morning. An eighth husband's death—the former Prime Minister was deceased by a mysterious Muggle illness three years prior—seemed to have done her well. Her hair was miraculously coiffed at seven in the morning, cheeks and eyes conscientiously charmed to hide the damage of age.

Blaise shrugged, yawning nonchalantly. "I wasn't aware we had an appointment."

"I sent you an Owl."

Briefly an image of a pile of unopened envelopes fluttering to the ground—pushed aside by urgent hands—flitted through his mind. Blaise glanced briefly to his side. They were still there. "Must have missed it," he murmured, thoughts of sleep now discarded in favour of more pleasurable pursuits, such as once again debauching the lovely Puddlemere United Chaser he'd brought home last night.

Isabella's lips drew a thin line, and she pulled the corners into a smile. "Blaise, love, it's thankful I called, then. Do try to be ready by ten; you and I have brunch with the Notts at their manor."

"Excuse me?"

"The Notts, love, we'll be brunching with them at ten. You went with Theodore in—“

"I know who they are, Mother," Blaise cut her off. He'd been reading the society pages, but as his mother had never mentioned anything, he'd assumed they were only rumours. "But surely the brunch is—“

"Nothing else but the perfect way to meet your new family, naturally."

“What?”

“Ten a.m., sweet, do be on time.”

***

"We didn't want to spring this upon everyone, but we didn't want word to spread unless definite plans had been made, of course," Isabella explained. "Alex and I value our privacy, surely you understand?"

"Of course," Blaise nodded, certain they'd be on the front page of the Prophet in three months' time. He sipped his tea dutifully, leaning forward in feigned interest as his mother relayed plans for her ninth wedding.

"It'll be small, of course, just family and close friends," she was saying. A Prophet reporter or two for posterity, too, Blaise added quietly. "And we've planned on a honeymoon to Greece, can you _believe_ Alex has never been there before?"

"No, really?" Blaise gave a little gasp of shock, the corner of his eye catching a glimpse of the littlest Nott squirming in his seat, and Theodore sighing impatiently. He couldn’t blame them. He'd strolled into the Nott gardens at half past eleven, expecting the worst to be over, only to meet Isabella and the Notts just as they were coming out of another part of the estate. His mother had kissed him adoringly, thanking him for coming on time, and as Nott Sr. nodded approvingly from behind her Blaise had wished his mother didn't know him as well as she did.

"Yes, I wasn't able to believe it either, but Alex has always been a workaholic, he says he's never had the time. Well, we'll have to make time for him, then, won't we?" Isabella went on, smiling indulgently at her newest fiancé, who gazed at her adoringly.

"I'm sure you and Father would love to discuss this more at length without our presence, Mrs Zabi—Mrs Scrimg—“

"Just Isabella, Theodore," Isabella said charmingly, though Blaise could detect the barest hint of venom in her voice.

"Isabella," Theodore corrected himself, forcing a pleasant smile. "I'm certain you and Father would love to spend more time together, why don't I take my siblings and Blaise out to the gardens? We've not properly caught up with each other since Hogwarts, after all."

"Are you certain, love?" Isabella asked.

"I will be fine, Mother," Blaise assured her, standing up to take his leave. "I've never been in the Nott gardens and I would love to see them."

"Well, alright then," she acquiesced, kissing Blaise's cheek as he left. "Manners, love," she whispered.

"Always, Mother."

***

There was something surprisingly unnerving about having a child staring wide-eyed and gawking at you, especially if he'd not stopped doing so for the last twenty minutes. "Yes?" Blaise asked coolly, turning to look down at the little boy that clung to one of Theodore's arms.

Grayson only stared back.

"Right, then," Blaise muttered, bending forward under the pretense of examining the chrysanthemums. He wondered why he allowed himself to suffer this, and Roger Davies had given him a confused look when he went back to bed that morning only to get dressed, as though he wondered the same thing. He wished he could say his mother only got married once, maybe even twice, thus it was a special event, and it would have been excusable, but that was far from the truth, as well. For Isabella, marrying was a hobby, and she demanded each wedding be treated with even more attention than the last.

"Will you play Battlebroom with me?" a tiny, suddenly brave voice piped up from behind.

"What?" Blaise turned back, eyebrow raised in mild surprise.

"Theodore always plays Battlebroom with me, and he's my brother, so if you become my new brother, are you playing Battlebroom with me? It's only good for two people," Grayson said in a rush of solemn breath.

Manners, Blaise reminded himself, before smiling down at the boy. "If you like, though I won't mind if you want to keep playing with Theodore."

"I want to play with you, he always lets me win anyway—“

"Why don't you go and find where Kalan's gone off to, Grayson," Theodore interrupted with a discreet cough. Grayson shot him a slight smirk before he disappeared around the rosebushes.

"Charming boy," Blaise observed, but Theodore did not reply, and they were silent for a while.

"My father adored my mother." Theodore's voice was calm and matter-of-fact when he spoke again, with the sort of tone one would employ when discussing the weather.

Blaise merely tilted his head in response. He wasn't accustomed to bluntness. "Your mother is dead."

"And soon enough, my father will be, as well," came the insolent reply, and when Blaise faced him, Theodore’s eyes were coldly angry.

"Then we're doing him a favour, aren't we?" Blaise shot back.

***

"She could have used a bit more sense," Blaise muttered, picking at his pasta. The date had been announced to all the important people, along with invitations (there was a long and lengthy discussion regarding the remaining Malfoys; in the end, there was a compromise to send an invitation laced with a spell to make the receiver forget the appointment), and five months before the big day, Blaise was still complaining. "The _Notts_ , imagine."

"Imagine, indeed. I _do_ feel sorry, love, isn't this the first time you'll have step-siblings?" Tracey nodded sympathetically from across him, reaching out a hand to pat the back of his hand. In the background, amidst the soft tinkling of utensils and the gentle murmur of conversation, Blaise heard the frantic clicking of a camera.

"We'll be in the sixth page of the Prophet," he noted dryly, casually turning his wrist so his palm lay directly under Tracey's. "Page five, now. And no, there was that episode with the Wrights. I'd rather not be reminded."

"Poor love, what do you plan to do now?" Tracey asked, eyes focusing on him a bit more intently than she meant. Blaise gave her a half-smile and she leaned forward, putting her lips close to his ear. "Front page."

"Tiny box in the bottom-left side. Story on page three," he whispered back. "I've an appointment with a Chaser after dinner."

He felt her leg on his, ankle hooking slowly around his calf and sliding upward. "Headline," she insisted playfully. "And I meant with the family. It's the Notts, love."

Blaise leaned back, smiling languidly at Tracey. The girl was a fabulous gossip, and an even better socialite, and he was certain the Prophet wouldn't have enough of her for the next few weeks. "I can hardly dictate her life choices, as I'm sure she tries not to interfere with mine. Besides, the Notts are respectable now."

"There are doubts," Tracey pointed out. "Nearly everyone turned informant, in the end."

"Doesn't matter, in the long run," Blaise countered. "I will have to suffer the family in the meantime, I suppose."

"In your own special way? They’re the _Notts_ ," Tracey reminded him.

"Yes, love, I'd noticed."

"But they're—“

"Mother knows what she's doing, and so do I."

"So do the Notts, most of the time." Tracey smiled angelically. "Theodore especially. You remem—“

"Yes, I do, I remember Theodore," Blaise interrupted, rolling his eyes. "We _did_ spend seven years in the same House—the same dorm, even, of _course_ I know him."

Tracey only smiled dazzlingly at him, and for the final time that night the clicking of a photograph not-so-discreetly taken interrupted the quiet of the evening.

***

They began robe fittings three months before the wedding, and Blaise turned around for the eleventh time while his mother inspected him head to foot. Beside him, the haggard assistant looked up expectantly.

“The sleeves are too short, collar’s a bit high, the cut at the shoulder’s not right at all,” Isabella murmured, each criticism punctuated by a definite droop in the assistant’s shoulders.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Madam Genevieve Gozum, Italian designer and a close personal friend of Isabella, sighed beside her. “It is difficult to find a style and a cut that suits men, but the colour?”

“All men generally end up suiting the same thing,” Isabella agreed distractedly. “And that shade of cream should do marvelously, yes.”

“Take note of the measurements, Olivia,” Genevieve instructed, pausing thoughtfully as Olivia scuttled around taking Blaise’s measurements. She turned next to the three Nott siblings, who’d been watching warily the whole time. “Which one of you gentlemen would like to go next?”

“Kalan,” Theodore and Grayson both blurted out. Kalan, who had pointed to Grayson, froze in his seat.

“I recommend keeping Theodore for last,” Blaise commented, shrugging out of the dress robes and smiling charmingly at Olivia. “He’s the strangest proportions and I imagine he’ll take the longest time.”

“What difference does it make?” Theodore muttered, annoyed. Isabella shot Blaise a warning look.

“Because then I can take Grayson and Kalan out for some ice cream, while we wait for you,” Blaise explained matter-of-factly, not failing to note the way Grayson’s eyes lit up, and the grin Kalan wore, even as he stood to have his robes fitted. Isabella gave him an approving nod, but it was the way Theodore sulked for the remainder of the afternoon that pleased Blaise most.

***

Alexander and Isabella _weren’t_ featured on the front page of the Daily Prophet three months after they announced their engagement, contrary to Blaise’s prediction. Instead there was a small announcement in the society pages and, a month and a half before the designated Event of the Year, The Daily Prophet wanted to know if they could feature the couple for their Sunday special. Isabella agreed graciously, and one chilly day late in February, the Daily Prophet sent a reporter and photographer to the Nott manor.

“Rita Skeeter couldn’t make it,” Zacharias Smith gritted through his teeth by means of explanation. His right hand was gripping a quill quite painfully and his knuckles were white. Beside him, a blond head bobbed up and down behind a large, clunky camera.

“Colin Creevey, pleasure to meet you, it’s so exciting to work on this article, let me tell you, my brother’s very excited for me,” he said in a rush of breath, a hand extending from out of nowhere and shaking Alexander Nott’s enthusiastically.

The senior Nott looked quite ill at ease. “Likewise.”

The Notts looked wary, and Grayson clutched Blaise’s hand anxiously. Blaise tilted his head curiously. “You look familiar—have I _seen_ you before?”

“We went to Hogwarts together,” Zacharias replied coldly. “I was in Hufflepuff.”

Blaise nodded cheekily. “Hufflepuff, right, yes,” he said, turning to Grayson and whispering, quite loudly, “Remember, Grayson, when they place the Sorting Hat on your head, you’re supposed to say ‘Not Hufflepuff’, okay?”

“And ‘Gryffindor over my dead body’, right, Blaise?”

“Yes. Good boy.”

“The gardens should be suitable for the interview,” Isabella said primly, just before Zacharias or Colin had time to react. “I trust you’ll have no problem with the lighting?”

“Oh no, ma’am, it’s a beautiful day out, it’ll be perfect for outdoor pictures,” Colin said, beaming. “And if not, I can always adjust camera settings accordingly, this model I have here’s one of the _finest_ , actually, did you know? It has five different kinds of settings and it automatically changes the apertures depending on—“

“How are plans for the wedding coming along, ma’am?” Zacharias said loudly, cutting off what was promising to be a lengthily tedious monologue. Blaise watched in amusement as Smith attempted to discreetly consult a list of questions from a short piece of parchment.

“Oh, everything’s going perfectly according to plan,” she replied airily.

“Ninth time around should be enough practice,” Theodore muttered beside Blaise.

“I heard that,” Blaise whispered casually.

“You were meant to.”

“And how does it feel, Mr. Zabini and Mr. Nott, to find that you will soon be step-siblings?” Zacharias said suddenly, turning his attention to both men, grin wide and plastered on.

Blaise flashed him a charming smile. “I think it’s just about the most exciting thing to happen this year,” he said smoothly.

“Yes, I can hardly wait,” Theodore chimed dryly beside him.

***

The reason Isabella was never implicated in any of her husbands’ deaths, though she was almost always one of the primary suspects, was that she never actually killed any of her husbands. Everything was simply a case of bad luck and terrible timing when it came to marrying. She’d also long suspected it to be a curse some stupidly jealous hag had cast on her years ago, but as the curse turned out to be a blessing, she never concerned herself with it.

Nevertheless, while most of her husbands died of accidents, some had been driven to their deaths by madness. Isabella, with her infuriatingly unruffled composure and poise, was very skilled at causing this, and she’d manage to pass her talents on to Blaise.

“Merlin’s fucking beard, _what_ are you doing?” Theodore cursed when he walked into the loo, four weeks prior to the wedding, at a rehearsal.

“I’m not quite su—who are you again?”

“Darren.”

“Darryl, Theodore, now go away.”

***

As far as weddings went, the Scrimgeour-Nott nuptial was a raging social success. If it wasn’t the bride, the flashing lights of a thousand different cameras blinded the guests enough to dazzle them into amazement. Not a detail went out of place, the whole entourage was radiant, everything went perfectly according to plan, and everyone photographed well. Not a fifth of the way through and already everyone knew it would _be_ the Wedding of the Century—until Isabella’s next wedding, of course.

Most of the Ball that followed the wedding was picture-perfect too. Mostly.

“Not up to joining the festivities?”

Theodore turned to look at the door. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said evenly. “Not _up_ to any sort of _festivity_?”

“Seems like I’m not.” Blaise smirked, arms crossed smugly over his chest as he leaned his weight against the doorframe. “Or maybe I am.”

Theodore waved his hand dismissively. “Go back downstairs. Your public awaits, and I’m certain your girlfriend needs to hang off your arm for the cameras.”

“And steal the spotlight from my mother?” Blaise snorted. “Tracey’s a big girl—she can take perfectly good care of herself.”

“What are you here for, Blaise?” Theodore asked, brow furrowed and arms crossed. “Have you no one else’s time to waste?”

“Oh I’m _always_ worth the time,” Blaise said, winking suggestively. He tilted his head at an angle, smirking at Theodore until the man looked away. “Theodore, we’re _family_ now, you realise?”

“All too painfully,” Theodore said gruffly. He looked up and was startled to see that somehow, in the few moments when he wasn’t paying attention, Blaise had moved from a safe few metres away to an alarmingly few centimetres from him. “What’s your point?”

“Conflict and tension is not a suitable environment for family to have,” Blaise said solemnly, never taking his eyes off Theodore as he leaned ever closer. “It’s unhealthy. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Blaise’s voice had dropped to a low, teasing murmur, and Theodore blinked rapidly, edging away in confusion.

“Theodore?” Blaise leaned two centimetres forward.

“Yes?” Theodore edged three centimetres back.

“Why are you moving away?” Four centimetres more.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Five centime—Theodore’s back hit the wall. “Um.”

“Hmm?” Blaise moved closer.

“You are _infuriating_ ,” Theodore gritted out, breath hitching traitorously.

Blaise flashed him a smug grin. “I know,” he said, straightening up and taking a few quick steps backward. “I’ll see you around, Teddy.”

“Bloody tea-- _bastard_ ,” Theodore muttered, righting himself and smoothing down his hair with as much dignity as he could, but Blaise had already gone.

***

“Good morning!” Blaise greeted chirpily when Theodore came down to breakfast the next day. “More toast, Grayson?”

Theodore blinked. “What are you doing here?”

“Blaise is moving in to be closer to family, isn’t it just _marvelous_?” Isabella asked, clearly pleased. “Alex is _thrilled_ , too. He’ll be in the room across yours, you won’t mind, will you?”

“No,” Theodore said, though the feral grin Blaise wore told him he should.

Unless he didn’t, really.

***

  



End file.
